


The Nights That Bind Us

by Xenrae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Love, M/M, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenrae/pseuds/Xenrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some threads between us never break, even when they should.<br/>Fenris and Hawke discover what this means, five years after saying goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ebony And Alabaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/561570) by [excelsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelsis/pseuds/excelsis). 



> What follows is a sequel to the brilliant work, "Ebony And Alabaster," by _excelsis_ , found in this archive. _Excelsis_ writes the epic tale of Fenris of Seheron, covering so much more than Dragon Age II, bringing meaning and life to the tortured, troubled soul that is Fenris. If you are a fan of the green-eyed elf, "Ebony And Alabaster" is truly essential reading. 
> 
> Thanks to mlp_buttons for the correction to my description. You're right - it's a sequel ;)
> 
> Canon for my story is "Ebony And Alabaster," and also Dragon Age II. Some of what you read here will make more sense if you read there, but I think you'll find your way around, either way. Also, there are brief moments of alternate universe, inasmuch as Inquisition was not part of the story when this was begun... and Hawke destroys an entire forest. 
> 
> My very first fan fic. Try not to scare me off with your critique, but do let me know what you think.

"Champion!" 

Hawke laughed at what could only be a shout from Varric as he strode into the tavern.  "Stop with that, dwarf.  Those days have passed, my friend," he said with a wink.  Varric smiled back, punching a friendly fist into the mage's shoulder, ordering him a pint.

The night was cold and rainy, and the normal patrons of the Bloated Goat were mostly in their homes.  The few guests that could be found were regulars, and the oft heard din of celebration was lost on this night.  A typically moody Hawke sat next to his friend and drank deeply from the pint.

"Champion, indeed."

A voice came from a dark corner of the room.   Varric spun around, reaching over his shoulder for Bianca, his eyes squinting at the figure in the shadows, gauging whether this would be yet another challenge.  Without turning, Hawke laid a hand on his friend's wrist.  "No." 

The room, already quiet, fell into the silence of a tomb.  The few guests who had weathered this awful night had known the mage long, and something was not right.  As though time itself had stopped, no one moved, not even Varric, waiting for a sign from the apostate that this was friend or foe.  The hearth fire crackled and spit, as if marking off time, and Hawke only stared into the bottom of his tankard.

 _"Champion, indeed."_ _There was no mistaking that voice.  Of all the beings in Thedas that it could be, Hawke knew who it was._

_And he could not breathe._

**********

Seven years had passed since the mage uprising had begun, and Garrett Hawke had walked many miles.  Not long after Anders' devastation of the Chantry, their group had gone their separate ways, and Hawke, with Anders, had gone into hiding.  Prince Sebastian sought their heads with an oath of vengeance, and they were never truly at rest until King Alistair of Ferelden had granted them sanctuary in Amaranthine.  Hawke had willingly fought the last traces of Blight for the king, and Anders tended to the sick and injured, often delivering four-legged babies as well as two.  It was the most quiet they had known together, but even still, peace never came for them, knowing that Sebastian's men would never truly leave them alone.  They kept in touch with old friends when they could, sending letters and packages when situations allowed.

And then one day, for reasons Hawke would never learn, Anders had asked him to stop writing Fenris, and he had paused only briefly, before promising that he would.

**********

A chair was heard scraping against the wooden floor, and Hawke knew he was out of time.  He rose then, his heart frozen in his chest, and turned toward the voice.

"Fenris."  
"Hawke," the elf said, and he stepped out of the darkness and into the warm light of the hearth fire.

The elf had barely aged.  He was dressed in fine leather armor, almost the color of blood when it's dried.  The metal of his gauntlets gleamed in the dancing light. His feet were still bare.   His hair had not changed, jagged white locks cut long over his brow.  His sword still hung the same way across his back.  His eyes still green, his thin smile still ...

"Fenris!"  It was Varric.  A startled Hawke stilled his racing thoughts.  The remainder of the patrons silently breathed a sigh of relief and resumed their conversations.  Varric slapped Hawke's chest with the back of his hand as though he knew, then strode across the room to the elf, grabbing up his friend's gauntleted hand between both of his.  Hawke breathed deeply, and went to greet his friend.

Hours passed as the three sat together at the rough wooden table, sharing tales of fighting and killing, triumph and defeat, and as men often do, of whores and drunken stupor.  Varric shared with Fenris how he had found, and years later lost, his beloved Amena.  It was then that his subtle inquiries had located the mage, and he'd come to Amaranthine, mostly to escape the memories of his wife, but perhaps, just a little, looking for a fight.   Hawke told of outrunning Sebastian's men, and of the gracious king who had given him a home.  Fenris revealed little, as was his custom, but told his old friends of his time as a mercenary repaying his bounty, and of his solitary roaming the last two years.  A now-silenced merchant in the port city of Ayesleigh had boasted of seeing the Champion of Kirkwall in Amaranthine, and it was time, he had told them.  Time to see old friends, and know the security and comfort of their companionship once again.  Hawke did not mention Anders, and Fenris did not ask.

The silver moon was high in the night sky when Varric stood.  "I'm calling it a night.  Not as young I used to be, and I'm guessing you two have things to talk about.  If you happen to start any fights, you know where to find me,"  he said, with obvious optimism.  He swallowed the last of his tankard and said his goodbyes. 

Hawke spoke first.  "So, who or what are you outrunning, Fenris?"

_Leave.  This will not end well. Then a flash of an unexpected kiss goodbye._

Fenris leaned forward in his chair and said quietly, "Nothing at all, my friend.  The bounty on my head has been paid.  My years of running have come to an end."

"There is no threat then?" Hawke asked him.  The apostate struggled to manage his voice.  _Are you okay?_

Instead, he said, "Varric and I will fight with you, but surely you would have us know who we will be fighting."  Not looking at him was becoming awkward, and Hawke at last looked up, in time to see Fenris smile just slightly.  He had believed he would never see Fenris again, knowing that when he quit sending letters, the price of love would mean the loss of his friend.

_His friend.  Is that what he was?  Does a man dream of glowing blue spirals on skin and wake soaked in sweat and hard with passion, for a friend?_

"Hawke, if there remains a man or beast trying to kill me, they've yet to make their presence known."  Fenris stood then.  He straightened his armor and replaced his sword in the scabbard on his back.  He looked once again at Hawke, and said, "I am well, my friend, and it is good to see you again."  Fenris had rented a room from the innkeeper, and he bid the mage goodnight and headed for the stairs. 

Hawke stood.  "Fenris..."

The elf turned on the stairs to face him, and their eyes met just a moment too long.

"Then why are you here?"

It seemed to Hawke that the elf hesitated before answering.  "Because it seemed a better place to be than anywhere else. "  He turned then and disappeared up the hall.  
  
Hawke sat back down, absentmindedly casting an aura of calm on himself.  Many minutes passed as he sat in the quiet.  Fenris had returned.  _Why wouldn't his heart quit racing?_   Why did he feel so guilty?  Anders had forgiven him.  Could he not welcome a friend without the black finger of betrayal sneaking up his spine?    _Anders._   The thought and pain of loss lasted only a moment. 

Enough.  It was good to see a friend and tell the tales.  That was all.  He was too tired to deal with the rest.  He rose from the table, threw a sovereign at the keep, and headed home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric takes a wife. Yes, this is absolutely made up, but I felt bad for the guy. Her name is completely random, and I hope he would approve.
> 
> Also, if you are a fan of Ebony And Alabaster, you'll notice I have written from Hawke's point of view, rather than Fenris'. Excelsis' portrayal of him was too good to try to continue, even as much as I would like to know what he was thinking.


	2. Moonlight and Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is angry...no, furious... no, thrilled... that Fenris isn't gone.

It was impossible not to think of Fenris on the short walk home.  The rain had stopped, and his boots made eerie sounds on the damp stones of the empty streets.  His mind was flooded with memories he didn't want to remember.  

There had been a dull pain in him every moment since saying good bye to the brooding elf, but he had sworn to himself that it would never see the light again.  He knew that his life with Anders depended on it.   So, it was stored away in the blackness of his heart, the agony of rejection, the guilt and shame of cheating and mostly, the desperate longing for the elf's embrace.  All that Fenris had ever meant, never to be reminded of again.

Until tonight.  Hawke's mind danced with vague images of the blue-white light on a silken pillow, green eyes peering with passion from under white hair.  The sound of armor being dropped to the floor, and a headboard beaten into a wall.  He shoved the memories back into the blackness and walked faster.

He was in front of his door when Fenris stepped out of a shadow.  The elf spoke quickly, as if he knew the mage would not welcome his return.   "I wasn't going to do this.  I know the hour is late.  But I - "

Before Fenris could finish his sentence, Hawke had him pinned against the stone of the entryway, a shoulder beneath each hand.  The two locked eyes as the mage stared him down, suddenly angry that Fenris was here,  angry that he had felt the old stirrings at the tavern, angry all over again that Fenris had ever rejected him all those years ago.  Wasn't it because of Fenris that he had carried the ugly weight of guilt these last few years?

_Just because of Fenris?_

But with the elf, would come the loss, of that he was sure.  What was it Fenris used to say?  _It was just too much._

"What is it you want, elf?  Did you come to visit, or to see if you could still break me?  Is it my sword or my cock that you want, Fenris?  So much time has passed, and now you are here in the night, tempting me once again.  Well, Anders is gone.  There is nothing left here for you to ruin," Hawke spat out with more venom than he intended.

 Fenris was obviously startled, and Hawke could see that his eyes were searching his own.  Then the elf turned away from him and whispered, "Please forgive me.  I had no right coming here. "  Without looking up, he broke free of the mage's grasp and stepped into street.  Hawke, anger subsiding, watched as the man he had once loved and still longed for, walked away for good.  It was the only way.  He stared after him a moment more, feeling the old feelings, worst among them regret, then he compelled himself to turn and go inside.

"Hawke!" Fenris called  from the street.  The mage stopped and turned around. 

 _He's not gone._  

Fenris was twenty paces away, and his voice carried along the masonry of the buildings and echoed down the quiet alleys.  A lantern burned from a post behind the elf, casting a dull light on nearby crates and doorways, making jagged shapes of shadows that fell unevenly on the ground.  A rat scurried by.  The breeze blew a crumpled bit of parchment out of the darkness, and then back in again. 

Hawke waited, unsure why.  _To be convinced?  To be seduced?_

The light made a silhouette of the thin elf's form, casting long spikes of shadow that reached back up the street toward the mage.  Fenris said nothing for a moment, then the warrior in him returned, and he strode back to Hawke, determined.  Their eyes met and Fenris threw him a challenging stare, his white hair dangling across his face.  "I will not leave it like this.  Hawke, I ..." he broke off, running his fingers through his hair.  He turned and looked at the ground, as if looking at the apostate was too much.

"Fenris, if you have something to say...."

The words came in a rush, Fenris pacing before him.  "I have lost you before, afraid to say how I feel.  I will not let that be the reason again. I had hoped for some sense of things at the pub, but now I find I am uncertain. " He turned back toward the mage, but did not look up.  Hawke could sense his caution and careful choice of words.

_No, not like this. Not carefully._

Something that was strained to its limit in Hawke finally broke, and he put his hand beneath the elf's chin, and turned his face to meet his gaze again.  The green eyes that had haunted him stared back.   "Fenris, say it," he said gently.

"Our chance will not come again, Hawke.  On your command,  I will go, but I want nothing from you.  Staying away was just too hard.  I .... still love you. "

 _I still love you.  And Hawke knew that he did.  Fenris had always loved him, in his own way, but not enough to forget his tortured past, and not enough to remember it.  He had loved him enough to fight for him, to slay whatever beasts and evil magi confronted them.  He had even loved him enough to take the side of the mages against all that he believed, and to forget that Hawke was one of them.  Yes, Fenris loved him, but not enough to be with him. More than once, he had made that clear.   Losing Anders was enough.  Must he go through this again?  Could he not be left in peace, to carry his memories, both warm and dark, in the places of his heart where they belonged?_  
  
"Fenris, I..."

Hawke had the words of regret and goodbye in his throat, but like so many moments of their past, Fenris was just too near, and he pulled him into his arms instead and kissed him.

This was not like the kisses of years ago.  Hawke did not crush his lips against Fenris or bite his neck.  Fenris did not push back and leave Hawke breathless.  This time, it was the kiss of reunion.  Hawke wanted to remember every second, every breath, the way Fenris smelled and the way he tilted his face up to him, the way he tasted, the firm resistance of his mouth, and the way his fingers felt threaded through his hair.  The kiss felt like heaven, and like everything he remembered or would ever want again.  _He was here._  And just for now, he would believe that the elf meant to stay.

The lyrium was glowing now, casting it's blue light on everything around them.  The rain had begun to fall again, and Hawke gently pushed Fenris away, looking into his eyes.  There was no hiding the passion they both felt, flushed faces and tight pants, hearts beating wildly with trepidation and desire.  Even after the kiss, Hawke feared what Fenris would say.

 "What is it you want from me, Fenris?"  Hawke asked again, gently this time.

Fenris touched the mage's cheek and white swirls brightened.  "A night, Hawke, if that's all that you have.  Just tonight, or tomorrow, or anything you want to give me.  Just ... do not send me away."

 _A thousand armored horses could not drag you from me tonight._  

Hawke opened the door, and led him inside.


	3. Impatient Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a thousand armored horses couldn't stop.

Once inside, the two men could not keep their hands off one another.  In front of the fire, Fenris this time, pulled Hawke into an embrace.  Now the kisses of hunger began.  The bruising of mouths, and moans of denied passion.  Hawke obeyed as Fenris begged him to be still, removing the mage's robes and under clothes with agonizing slowness, covering each newly revealed patch of skin with his mouth, his hands.  When it was done, he kissed his mouth again, biting his lip, sucking his tongue, running his hand down the mage's chest to tease but not yet touch. 

Hawk groaned and pulled at the elf's armor.  Fenris stilled his hand, and as once before, the lyrium began to blaze in brilliant blue, slowly the color of flesh and bone disappeared, and Fenris became a magnificent vapor image of himself.  When he was nothing but light and the power of the lyrium, his armor fell from his body in a heap on the floor. 

_The unwanted memory of a stormy night and treacherous brandy.  Glorious, exquisite intimacy, that would scar Hawke's heart forever._

Hawke shoved away the past, for now.  This time, there was no one to betray.  There would be no shame tomorrow or ever, and he reached out, his hand passing through the beautiful blue light.  _Fenris._   The moment the elf was himself again, Hawke pulled him to the floor.

They lay in front of the fire, touching, caressing, kissing.  So much time had gone by.  So many years of longing and remembering.  Neither of them hurried.  

When Fenris finally touched him, Hawke moaned and closed his eyes.  The warrior's touch was like torment for Hawke, caressing everywhere, stroking his shaft, gently touching his balls and the place between.  He busied his mouth on Hawke's neck first nibbling, then biting, then moving back for another kiss.  At last Hawke reached between them and wrapped his fingers around the elf.  They lay together, kissing, stroking, moaning, their hands and bellies soon smeared with precome, until Fenris finally pushed Hawke over on his back, moving  one bent leg to each side of his hips.  Hawke pulled the elf back down to him, mouths reconnecting in the bruising pain of a kiss.  He wanted to feel more of him.  He wanted his skin to touch his skin, to feel the warmth of his life and his desire in every place he could. 

"By the Maker I have missed you, Fenris," Hawke breathed into his mouth between kisses.  Fenris barely stifled a moan.  Their erections were pressed together between them, and Fenris straightened his legs and moved against him.  They touched each other everywhere, tasted everywhere.  They kissed, caressed, and remembered each other.   Every touch came with a memory of nights long gone, and when other reminders came too, Hawke pushed them back into the dark.  For now he would pretend Fenris had never left him, and pretend he didn't silently fear that tomorrow he would, once again, wake up to Fenris gone. 

In the quiet light, Hawke let himself drown in the moment.  He held Fenris close,  as his mouth found the elf's  neck, his shoulder, his chest.  His hands felt the strength of his back, and the corded muscle of his warrior's arms.  They moved together like that for a time, sharing the rhythm of rising hips, legs entwined, the caress of skin against skin, hungry mouths and soft moans that spoke _at last_.

Hawke rolled over, pushing Fenris back into the rug, their dance of dominance playing on.  The fire crackled beside them, warming their skin and lighting the room in the soft colors of passion.  

Fenris lay back, his fingers in Hawke's hair, and Hawke, like times before, trailed the intricate patterns of white with his tongue, across his shoulder, then his chest, lingering at the wonderful firmness of his abdomen, then to his hip, then his thigh.  He nibbled gently just to the inside the elf's hip, and let the warmth of his breath caress the parts that were waiting. When he could tell that Fenris was mad with longing, he wet his lips and rubbed them gently across the head of his cock, before sucking him into his mouth. 

Hawke could barely think with how good it was to taste him again.  Fenris was hard, and throbbing, and the lyrium glowed, and he filled his mouth perfectly.  Sucking, stroking, he let go only to swirl his tongue around the tip, and tease the shaft with kisses.  He loved how the elf moved beneath him, twisting in pleasure against his hand and his mouth, quiet gasps of air hitching from his throat.  How many nights had he lain awake dreaming of this? 

The warrior ran his fingers through the caster's hair, moaning, pushing his hips at his mouth for more.  He thrust at him nearly choking him, and the mage pulled away, a quiet smile on his face.  "Soon, Fenris,"  he said gently, and moved his mouth down between the elf's muscled thighs. 

With one hand gently stroking, Hawke's tongue found the space between Fenris' balls.  He licked him there, kissed him, ever so gently, then moved his tongue to his anus.  Fenris tilted his hips and the mage drew gentle circles of saliva around the opening, then pushed his tongue inside.  The warrior moaned with pleasure, squirming against Hawke's mouth.  The mage squeezed his erection gently, pulling and stroking, his tongue still dancing, feeling Fenris shudder. 

Suddenly, with a sound partly passion, partly rage, Fenris pulled away from Hawke and rolled him over on his back.  He moved over him, and Hawke recognized his intent.  _Impatient elf_ , he smiled to himself.  And though the sweet silkiness of penetration taunted the apostate,  he stopped him.  "Fenris, not yet.  We have all night," he said.  Their eyes met in challenge, but Fenris let the mage win, growling before he moved away.  Instead, he lowered himself between Hawke's legs, his fingers wrapping around his swollen cock, then he teased the tip against his lips before covering him with his mouth.  Hawke arched his back, fingers tangled in white hair, as  Fenris pulled on him, sucking and pumping fiercely, passionately, the hot breath coming from his nose.  Hawke closed his eyes  and laid his head back,  willing his body to wait, blind with desire and dreams. 

Hawke's body was alive with sensation, emotion, blinding sweet climax so near, so tempting.  It was too soon.  He rolled away from Fenris and stood, casting a spell of calm on himself.  He crossed the room returning quickly with small vial of bath oil that he put down on the bedside table, and held out his hand to help Fenris up.  He saw the elf glance at the oil and catch his breath in anticipation, dark, eager eyes twinkling back at the mage.  For just a moment Hawke marveled at his own self-control, the look in Fenris' eyes making him want to abandon it completely.    

Facing each other at the end of the bed,  Hawke twined his fingers in Fenris' hair and pulled his mouth back to him. Fenris encircled him with his arms, pulling him close.  They kissed, a long deep kiss, broken only by the sound of Fenris whispering Hawke's name against his lips. 

Finally,  Hawke lifted a startled Fenris in his arms, mouths still slanted together,  then put him down on the bed.  Fenris moved awkwardly backward to the pillows, heels digging into the blankets.  He laid back on the bed  and closed his eyes.  Hawke hesitated long enough to look at him, the muscled warrior naked in the firelight, touching himself, legs spread, begging to be taken, then fell on the bed next to him.

The lyrium glowed blue beneath Hawke's hand.  Resting on one elbow, he traced the lines with his finger, mesmerized with the beauty he saw in Fenris, in his skin, in his pain, in everything about him.  He could hardly contain his joy knowing that this was not a dream. 

The caster's hand played over the elf's chest and shoulders, down his abdomen, barely touching when he was at his hips, then his thighs.  Fenris arched against his hand, "Please, Hawke... " he murmured.  Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.  "Always in such a hurry, elf.  I should make you wait until sunrise," he said, only a little sarcastically.  Fenris moaned at this, but Hawke pulled him over to face him anyway, "...c'mere,"  he said fondly, drawing one muscled thigh up over his waist.  Fenris was covering his neck and his chest with kisses, and trembled as his legs were spread.  Hawke reached for the oil, pouring a few liquid drops onto his fingers, and the elf moaned eagerly, involuntarily spreading his legs further.

Hawke moved his hand between them, the back of it brushing lightly against Fenris' thigh, and smeared the oil in the space between his legs, back further along the cleft of his perfect ass, gently around the tender hole.  His finger played there for a minute, teasing, while his mouth covered every part of Fenris it could reach.  "Mage, your taunts take your life in your hands, " Fenris  growled into Hawke's throat.  Hawke silenced him with another breathless kiss, then pushed two slickened fingers inside. 

Fenris arched and groaned into Hawke's mouth, fingers tugging in his hair.  Hawke pushed deeper and Fenris shuddered with pleasure, the fingers working magic as they curled and penetrated, moving in and out in a rhythm with the elf's hips.  Their bodies ground together, mouths crushing, small sounds coming from the elf that made Hawke so hard it hurt. 

When the mage slid a third finger in, Fenris cried out, uncontrolled, saying his lover's name and rocking and thrusting against his hand.  Hawke moved his body against him, rubbing their erections together, his fingers stroking into him, over and over.  Fenris whimpered against him, hands splayed across his chest.  "More," he whispered, out of breath.  "I want all of you."  Hawke leaned over, teeth finding the elf's jaw, his neck, drinking in the taste and smell of his sweat, feeling him tremble with need.  He never wanted to let go of him.  He wanted to make him feel this way forever, but instead he withdrew his fingers and gently broke away.

Fenris let out a gasp in loss and desperation, suddenly cold and alone on the bed.   He was shaking, anxious.  Hawke had moved around in front of him, now on his knees.  While Fenris watched, the mage poured more oil, this time along the length of his cock.  He saw Fenris watching, and moved his hands more slowly, deliberately, spreading the oil down the shaft, swirling with his fingers around the tip.  Their eyes met.  Fenris made a noise like a growl, his face flushed, silent, eyes hooded and hungry.  Waiting.

With a low, nearly predatory moan, Hawke moved over Fenris and pushed him back into the bed, the full weight of his body on top of him.  Warmth and skin again, enveloping both of them, mouths needfully pressed together once more.  Fenris spread his legs, wrapping them around Hawke's waist, tilting his hips at him, reaching, wanting.  Finally Hawke reached between them and guided his slippery cock to the opening.  With a muffled cry against the elf's throat, he buried himself completely, groaning out loud as the explosion of sensation ripped through his groin, his abdomen, down his thighs to curl his toes.   He pushed into Fenris again, just that much deeper, then stilled and relaxed against him as gentle waves of tenderness and pleasure rode through every fiber of his body, so good he could barely breathe. 

 Fenris opened his eyes, curious, and found Hawke looking back at him, the emotion of his face saying everything.  A knowing smile played at the corner of the elf's mouth as he reached up to move sweat soaked hair from Hawke's brow. He tightened his arms around him, needing him and loving him all at once.   The mage bent his neck, nuzzling against Fenris' jaw, the pulse below his ear.  "It's so fucking good inside you, Fenris," he whispered into the elf's skin.  Fenris lifted his hips at that, and Hawke responded, moving out and back in again, slowly, deeply.   A whimper escaped the elf as the beautiful pain of penetration sang through him.  He pulled Hawke's mouth back over to him and hungrily kissed him again, sloppy and wet and perfect.

The slow, meaningful strokes were soon too much for Hawke, and restraint was lost.  Fenris' body begged for more of him, hands clawing and pulling, hips reaching, their mouths connecting then slipping with murmured praise to each other and the Maker. Harder and faster, Hawke rammed into him, every thrust a demand for possession. He was near delirious with sensations and the obscene sound of the bed against the wall could hardly be heard as wave after wave of throbbing, swirling pleasure came from the depths of Fenris' body and into his own. Over and over, the exquisite crawl of climax filling them both as Fenris twisted and convulsed against the thrusts, digging fingers into flesh, small sounds of pain and pleasure escaping from his throat, always with pleas for more.   

"Maker, Fenris...." Hawke groaned, and suddenly rolled away.  Utterly breathless, he paused a moment before standing up at the side of the bed, casting calm and inhaling deeply.  Fenris lay in their sweat-drenched blankets, catching his breath, as well.  The elf was smiling, nearly laughing, and he swallowed and licked his lips, running his fingers through his hair. Their eyes met, as chests heaved and tried to catch up. "Mmm, you are amazing, mage," Fenris smiled from hooded eyes. "And you are insatiable, elf," Hawke drawled back down to him, his eyes making no attempt to disguise his admiration of the elf's glistening, muscled body reclined against the pillows, tangled white hair stuck sweaty to his neck. "I want more," he said, reaching across the bed. 

Hawke pulled Fenris by an ankle over to where he stood, leaving his legs over the edge of the bed, feet nearly touching the floor.  Fenris startled and yelped, but instantly burned with desire again.  Hawke stood between his knees and, grabbing Fenris by each wrist, he moved the warrior's arms over his head and pinned them together there.  Green eyes looked up at him excited by the restraint.  Slowly, Hawke's free hand reached down to cup the elf's face, trail his fingers across his neck, across his chest from one nipple to the next.  He bent down to kiss him then, his lips teasing and never connecting.  Fenris groaned.  The mage moved his hand lower, close enough to feel the heat of the elf's swollen erection, but never touching. More kisses, bites, long slow licks of his tongue. From his jaw to his trembling thighs, Hawke covered him with taunting caresses.  The elf was nearly panting with need, arching his body at Hawke, seeking any kind of contact with skin.  When Hawke at last put his fingers around him, Fenris barely stifled a gasp and twisted his hips at him, trying to break free.  Hawke's vice-like grip held - or Fenris didn't really try - and he leaned in again to bite at the elf's neck, his jaw, his mouth, his free hand now stroking the tormented elf with gentle squeezes, and his thumb smearing precome in circles across the tip.  Hawke smiled to himself, reveling in the elf's need for him.  "Fenris," he finally whispered into his hair, "now I'm going to make you come." 

Hawke released his grip on Fenris' wrists and stood, and in one movement, he hooked his arms under the elf's legs, spreading and lifting him, then pushed his throbbing cock hard back inside.  Fenris groaned and locked his legs around him, moaning at the punishing penetration and absolute rapture of Hawke back where he belonged.   The mage released one leg and wrapped his fingers around the elf once again, touching, stroking, matching the rhythm of his hand with the thrust of his hips.  Elvhen fingers gripped the bed cover, knuckles white, and Fenris lay back on the bed, moaning, writhing, nearly weeping as a torrent of pleasure coursed through his body.  The glow of the lyrium now outshined the fire, and the mage's hand moved faster, his iron hard cock plunging into Fenris again and again, the warrior's body twisting in the blinding ascent of orgasm.  At last a hoarse cry of release came from his throat and he threw his head back against the bed, tensing and arching uncontrollably, the warm liquid of his orgasm finally landing across his belly.  Hawke growled and fell across him, crushing him in his embrace.  He thrust hard twice more into the elf before he shuddered and sighed Fenris' name, at last collapsing in a twisted tangle of sweat and caresses that he had been sure he would never know again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite phrases from "Ebony And Alabaster" is "treacherous brandy." You will find I've used it here, partly as homage, and partly because they might be the two best words ever put together. They are not my own, and I thank _excelsis_ for the inspiration of the phrase, and for prompting me to write again at all.


	4. The Wending Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke recounts Anders' ultimate sacrifice.

Hawke and Fenris lay on the bed, the coverlet pulled up to their hips, facing each other.   Hawke had stoked the fire before they'd climbed under the covers, and the dancing light once again filled the room. They looked at one another, not speaking, and the mage reached up to caress his face.  Fenris closed his eyes slowly, one arm bent beneath his white hair, the other resting across Hawke's waist.  They said nothing for awhile.  Emotional intimacy was still unfamiliar to the green eyed man.  Hawke's heart filled with joy for him, knowing that at least for a moment, he was at peace.  He wondered fleetingly if he had been alone all this time.

Hawke rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling.

Just being near Fenris again had his mind spinning with the tortured visions of a thousand nights.  Dreams of Fenris dead on the battlefield, and waking in terror; dreams of glowing blue spirals on skin, and waking with a longing that took days to ebb; dreams of the elf at his side among friends, and the pain of waking alone.  And for some of these, Anders had lain next to him in bed.  A knife of betrayal staked through Hawke's heart thinking of Anders, and he closed his eyes.  
  
 _Hawke, if you love me, stop writing him._

**********

Anders had died on a warm summer evening, in Amaranthine.  A year had passed with no sign of Sebastian's men.  Hawke routinely inquired at the docks and in town, asking travelers for word from Starkhaven.  Nothing.  And so, he had stopped asking, and as he would later regret, let his guard down.

They had spent the day in Blackmarsh, picking herbs and funguses for Anders' clinic.  The work finally done, they rode their horses back out of the marsh, and Hawke built a fire on the shore.  It was the early evening of a warm day, and Hawke and Anders walked along the beach, their hands clasped together, gentle waves lapping at the sand.  They talked of meaningless things like cats, and weather, and the future.  They shared a kiss as the sun moved toward the horizon, a warm breeze tussling Anders' unbound hair.  Hawke pulled Anders close, the source of all things warm and wonderful in his life.  No, it was not the fierce, unrelenting love he had felt for Fenris, but it was love. 

As they returned to the fire, the hair on Hawke's neck stood on end and he froze, putting his arm instinctively in front of Anders.

His eyes searched the skyline.  Nothing but ocean to one side, and mountains to the other, but the pass they needed out of here was hundreds of yards down the shore.  His heart beat fiercely.  Hawke and Anders never left home in robes that would give their true identity away.  Each was wearing light leather armor and boots today.  It was possible their magic would not be detected, but not likely.  He had left his staff with the horses, but  dropped all buffs of comfort to charge his mana pool.  Standing just behind him, Anders , now wary, was doing the same.

Then Hawke saw them, picking their way down the cliff face.  Six riders wearing plate on armored horses, heading in this direction.  It could be nothing, he thought.  No need to panic.  _Wait._   Since the mage rebellion, apostates were sometimes only despised, rather than jailed, for they often were not worth the trouble.   They might get out of this.  His fingers curled into fists, the mana stirring in readiness.  The riders approached.

It was too late by the time Hawke recognized the Vael crest on their leader's chest.  Now they would either talk their way out of this, or fight.

_Maker, no._

"Good evening," the guard Captain spoke.  He was a dark haired man with a beard, bearing a sword on either hip.  The other riders all carried shields, and were dressed in heavy plate.  The horses pawed at the sand, gnashing at their bits. 

"Good evening, Captain," Hawke said carefully.  "Is there something we can help you with?"

The captain and the mage locked eyes, gauging one another.  "We seek the Champion of Kirkwall, apostate.  Perhaps you've seen him?"

Now the threat was revealed.  The riders shifted in their saddles, the jangle of the horse tack making sounds that didn't belong.  The seconds seemed like hours as Hawke's mind raced for solutions.  He would not let them take Anders.  He would kill them all.

"The Champion of Kirkwall, you say?  Ha!  I thought him a myth!" Hawke responded laughing.  Anders caught on quickly, "Indeed he is, Captain.  We've just come from the marsh, picking herbs.  We saw no one."

The sound of creaking leather, a hoof dragging through the sand.  The captain looked past the two mages into the beckoning darkness of the marsh, then back down to Hawke.  "Perhaps you're right, mage.  We'll just have a look ourselves, then.  Good evening," he said.  The captain of the guard pulled up on his reins, turning the horse toward the sea, and then the marsh.  His compliment followed after him, and Hawke calmed himself, stretching the knotted fists of his hands.   

A second later he heard, "Oh, mage..."  behind him, and he steeled himself and turned around.  "The hour grows late," the captain said.  "Perhaps the two of you should seek shelter before dark.  Terrible things have been known to come from Blackmarsh."  He smiled as he said this, the kind of smile that did not reassure, and minutes later, the soldiers disappeared into the marsh.

"Anders, we've got to get out of here," Hawke said. 

"Yes, I know.  Sebastian's men."

" We've got to clear that pass before they return. "  They headed back to the fire and packed the horses.  Anders took red potions from his pack, handing three to Hawke, putting three in the pouch at his waist.  There was only one lyrium, and Anders kept that for himself, knowing he may be called upon to heal.  Hawke let the fire burn, hoping it would buy them some time if it appeared they were still on the beach.  They mounted their horses and quietly urged them down the shore toward the pass.  Hawke's heart was pounding with dread, but casting would deplete mana, and he hadn't  bothered to learn how to calm himself without magic.  Another hundred yards and they were at the opening to the pass.

"I don't like the looks of this, Hawke," Anders told him, pulling his horse to a halt.  Hawke stopped too, and looked ahead.   To their right lie the Amaranthine ocean.  The sparkling blue of the bay had become a foreboding dark green in the setting sun.  To the south, over Anders' left shoulder,  the Aralt Ridge dwindled into foothills and gave way to the darkness of the Wending Wood. At this part of the road, there was barely two hundred feet between the trees and the sea.   The perfect place for an ambush.

The road narrowed here, winding around the shape of the shore.   It was nearly sunset.  Hawke tried to see into the wood, but it was useless.  Nothing but darkness met his gaze, and he tensed with caution. Hawke looked back to see that the guard had not returned from the marsh, and prodding his horse forward he took a deep breath and said, "Quickly, Anders.  Quickly!" and the horses began to run.

The pass was nearly a half mile long, but would not take long on horseback.  The mages raced toward  the other side and the relative safety of Pilgrim's Path, as though lyrium-sick Meredith herself was at their backs.  Hawke had glanced over his shoulder and found no pursuit from Prince Sebastian's men.  Perhaps it was nothing.  Perhaps the years of living hand-on-hilt had made them paranoid.  Ahead in the dwindling light, Hawke could see the glow of a swinging lantern marking Pilgrim's Path.  Almost there.

Hawke heard the arrow and had tensed for impact before it buried itself in his horse's chest.  The horse whinnied loudly, buckling beneath him and they both crashed into the hard dirt of the road.  Anders stopped his horse and ran to Hawke's side, checking for injuries in a panic.  "I'm alright, Anders.  Where is my staff?"  Hawke stood and covered the short distance to his staff, only glancing at the dead horse,  and retrieved it from the ground.  The mages put their backs to each other in defense, and it wasn't long before the enemy made itself known.

From the wood they came.  Four armored men and one in red robes.  The archer was not among them, but more arrows were heard glancing off the barrier Anders had quickly erected.  The soldiers came at them, swords drawn.  They made only two steps before the ground in front of them exploded in fire, throwing two back into the trees ablaze, and breaking one in half, his blood and entrails spilling out onto the ground.  Hawke felt a spell of silence, but he resisted and threw more fire.  He glanced at Anders and saw him shake the crystals of ice from his arms just before the glowing tendrils of lightning burned from his staff and into the chest of the last oncoming swordsman.  Now the mage.

Hawke did not have silence to cast, but instead lunged another fireball at the caster, only to have it evaporate in the face of the mage's resistance.  Fire would not work.  Hawke pulled on his mana and began casting again.  The ground underneath him began to rumble.  Small bits of earth and stone lifted off the ground and swirled around him, as the earth beneath the other mage began to rise.  Hawke shrugged off another attempt at silence, his staff now glowing brilliant orange.  The red-robed mage had only enough time to be surprised at his enemy's strength before the ground below him exploded, sending him sixty feet into the air.  His broken body came back to the earth with a thump.

Neither Hawke nor Anders had noticed the oncoming return of the guard captain and his compliment.  Their horses were quickly closing the distance when the arrow ran Hawke through.

"Hawke!" cried Anders, as the man fell to the ground.  The arrow had found a path past the barricade and gone into his side, and the stain of blood began spreading from under his chest piece.  Instinctively he reached to his belt for a potion, but found none.  "Anders.   I need... quickly..." Hawke gasped, pulling the arrow from his side.  Hawke could see now that his own potions had been crushed beneath the weight of the horse, and the red sticky liquid was leeching into the sand nearby.  He winced in pain as the arrow made a soft popping noise, coming from his flesh.  Then another stuck hard in the ground beside him. _Where was the archer?_ "Anders!" he yelled.  The healer returned with a potion and began casting the barrier.  Another arrow, and Anders was interrupted.  Hawke downed the potion, feeling the magic revive him, and regained his footing.  The whir of another arrow sailed by, but missed its target.  Hawke's eyes searched the edge of the forest and found nothing.

_Where?_

Hawke turned his attention to the approaching riders.  His hand began to glow, as did the staff, and fireballs the size of pumpkins rained down from the sky.  Three of the party were brought to the ground, their corpses left smoldering like spent campfires in the waning light.  The barrier was at last up again. Hawke saw an arrow bounce away, just at the height of his chest, and he silently thanked the Maker for barrier magic. 

_Where?_

The captain and one other  were nearly to them.  A cast of lightning was resisted, then horror, then ice. Too late, the mage realized the soft glow of blue from the captain's armor.  It was everywhere.  The captain was immune to magic, and the strongest mage in Thedas could do nothing to stop him.

_There wasn't enough time.  Once the barrier fell, Anders would be completely defenseless.  This was his fault.  He had put them in harm's way, let their enemies get too close.  He had to do something._

Hawke glanced at Anders, heart sick with worry.  "No matter what," he whispered, "you must not lower that barrier." Then he touched Anders' face, and ran headlong toward the beach and the oncoming attack. 

At ten feet away from the approaching soldiers, Hawke cast a strangling spell at the subordinate.  The unsuspecting guardsman clutched at his throat, struggling for breath, then fell from his horse.  Hawke dropped his staff, donning the sword and shield of the corpse on the ground beside him, just in time to see the captain pull up on the reins and the horse plow through sand to come to a halt. 

The captain dismounted slowly and, drawing his swords, walked toward the mage.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall at last," he said with a snicker. 

Hawke took two steps back toward the sea,  shield held in front of him.  The soldier advanced.

"You can't run, apostate.  You and your friend will be returned to Starkhaven for whatever the Prince sees fit for you."

Again, Hawke retreated.  Again, the captain advanced.  An arrow struck the sand near them, falling short of its mark.

The captain taunted again.  "A sword and shield, Champion?  What would you know about real men's devices?"

Hawke was running out of room. The water was only a few feet away.  It was time.

Casting spells for speed and shield upon himself, he lunged at the captain, magic carrying him quickly through the air, and slashed at the captain's shoulder before landing in the sand. Quickly he turned to face his enemy again, quietly thanking Aveline for her insistence that he train.

"You fuck!" the captain shouted, dropping his off-hand.  In a rage the soldier flew at Hawke, sword carving through the air.  Hawke danced away from the arc, the spells making him nimble even in the sand, and brought his shield down hard against the other man's bleeding wound.  The soldier was stunned, and Hawke had time to check on Anders, the glow of the barrier still around him, an arrow again bouncing away.

Hawke still said nothing, but again stepped carefully backward toward the sea.  He realized that the captain would not be caught off guard again, and prepared to defend himself.  The captain advanced.  The blood from the shoulder wound was gushing.  It ran down the front of his chest, staining the armor in dark viscous tendrils.  Great blobs of it had dripped from the swordsman's hand into the sand, and his arm hung at his side, useless.

Hawke stared at the oncoming soldier, steeling himself for the strike.  Another arrow sliced the air near him, and he flinched.  Just then, the captain's sword sang through the air with a speed Hawke thought was impossible, and he raised the shield to deflect, but not before the sword cut an angry mark through the flesh of his bicep. 

Hawke winced, wishing for a healing potion, but continued to lead the unwitting soldier toward the water with his retreat.

Once more the soldier came at him.  Hawke parried and the armored man lunged past him and tumbled toward the sea.  At last where he wanted him, Hawke retrieved his staff from the sand and finally began to bring the power of his magic to the fight.

The apostate drew quickly on his mana pool, making marks against the sky with his left hand, raising his staff overhead with his right.  Just as the orange sky began to darken overhead,  an arrow sang through the air, burying itself in Hawke's shoulder.  He tried to continue the spell through the pain, but could not.  The cast had been interrupted, and there wasn't time to start again.  Hawke bent over to retrieve the sword and shield, and in that moment the captain struck.  Suddenly Hawke could not breathe, and a pain unlike any he had ever known coursed through his body, stopping him in his tracks.

His off-hand useless, the Captain of the Guard lost his balance with the momentum of the swing, and spun around, falling back into the sea.  Hawke looked down to see a great horrid gash in his midsection, and he drew his hands to the wound, feeling the warm blood of his life running between his fingers.  The edges of his vision were going dark, and still he struggled for breath.  He stumbled twice toward the healer, and finally collapsed in the sand. 

The rest becomes one of the histories of moments that could have been, or should not have been, or might have somehow gone differently.  A series of choices and random events that could have taken any path, and somehow tragically chose this one.

"No!" Anders cried.  Without even thinking, the healer dropped the barrier, drank the lyrium potion, and began the cast of healing.  In the sand, a nearly lifeless Hawke could see his love, only paces away, the barrier gone.  _No, Anders.  No._ Anders hands glowed blue as he spun them around each other, then raising them toward Hawke, he cast the spell that would save his life.  The healer had not even dropped his hands when the arrow found its mark in his chest.  Without a sound, he collapsed.

The healing magic washed over Hawke, sealing the wound and charging his mana.  Hawke stood and turned toward the water to find the captain there, searching around in the depths for the lost sword.  It was too late.  By sheer strength of will, Hawke pushed Anders out of his mind and raised his empty hands to the sky, the hair standing up on his arms, the smell of ozone in the air. 

The wind began to blow, clouds gathering overhead, and tiny rivers of sand marched away from him in every direction.  The fury became his focus and the staff irrelevant.  He leaned his head back, making fists in the air, and then, as if to drag it from the clouds himself, he pulled hard with his fists back down to his chest, and a great glowing tendril of energy exploded into the bay.  The captain's lyrium could not protect him from the charged sea, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.  His body shook with seizure as fractals of electricity traveled through him, charring skin and organs alike, finally burning the wicked life from him.

Hawke rushed to Anders lying in the sand, but it was too late.  The arrow had pierced the leather armor, and then his heart.  He had died before he fell.

The archer died too, of course.  Tales would be told for generations of the day the Wending Wood erupted in one all consuming cataclysm of fire to become the Wending Black.  The explosion was heard for miles, as love and rage turned the once lush forest into a nothingness of razor sharp glass, smoking embers, and needless painful memories.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew I would like writing combat? Your feedback is generously appreciated here, because this was also a first.


	5. Say it, Damnit!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things that need saying, are finally said.

A single tear slid from Hawke's eye, as he lay there in the dim light of a smoldering fire.  He had thought Fenris asleep, but the elf reached for him and gently brushed the tear away.

"What is it, Hawke?"

Not wanting Fenris to misunderstand, Hawke turned his head and smiled.  "You're still very striking in the firelight, elf."

"You as well, mage, but for the wrinkles at the sides of your eyes," Fenris smiled back, reassured. 

"If you wish to talk, I will listen."

"Tonight is ours, Fenris.  There may be a better time to go down old trails."  Hawke didn't want to ruin whatever time they might have together.  Fenris had a way of messing things up or just leaving with the thinnest of explanations.  He wasn't ready to endure that again.  Not yet.

As if reading his mind, Fenris sat up on one elbow and turned Hawke's face to his. "Hawke, I am not leaving.  We can have more nights such as this.  If there is a comfort I can offer, let me." The elf sighed, "Leaving things unsaid has never aided us, Hawke."

Their eyes met for a long moment, then Hawke drew a deep breath and closed his and let the words go.  He told Fenris honestly of how good his life had been with Anders, and how strong their love had grown.  He told him about growing vegetables and playing with kittens, about making love on a blanket in the warm sun.  Then, pushing back tears, he recounted the day he'd lost Anders, and how Anders had died to save him. "Fenris, he died. Saving _me._ It was my fault they found us, and he died." Fenris was silent for awhile, unsure what to say. He lay a hand on the mage's shoulder in comfort.

"I was broken when your letters stopped coming," he finally said.  

"There was so much guilt, Fenris.  That night between you and I has never left me.  I was so wrong to be with you, but worse to keep the memory alive in my heart.  Anders asked me to quit writing, and his happiness was all that mattered.  I said yes.  I'm sorry."

Fenris took a breath, "No need, Hawke.  Though I didn't know it at the time, we both needed to move on."

"And now you're here.  Is it right for me to find happiness with you?  Anders gave his life for me.  This feels like what I wanted and what I needed, but it feels like betrayal as well."  Hawke sighed and closed his eyes.

Fenris laid his hand on Hawke's chest, feeling him breathe.  "He loved you, Hawke.  And he forgave us.  I cannot take the pain from you, though I would.  I have never outrun the shame of that night myself.  I should have said no, and left you to your happiness.  I was so selfish."  Fenris paused for a moment.  "Anders knew, Hawke.  He knew that you loved us both."

Fenris breathed deeply, falling onto his back.  "Hawke, you chose him.  You lived your life with him.  You made him happy, gave him security.   You _chose_ him, and it must have given him joy.  He knew about us Hawke, and he loved you anyway.  Your guilt is unnecessary, and if he watches us from the Fade, I think he would be unhappy to see you this way."

In the deafening silence, Hawke thought about what Fenris said.  It was so tempting, to have everything he wanted.  _But was it right?_

Fenris sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.   Something barely perceptible had changed.  It stilled Hawke, twisted something in his gut.  A memory stabbed at him in the darkness, unwanted.

_"I feel like such a fool...forgive me."_

 Fenris finally spoke and Hawke could hear a new coldness in his voice, "Hawke, you must come to these conclusions without me.  It would be wrong for me to persuade you.  Accept me or don't,  but not with old ghosts between us.  Perhaps it is best if I go."  
  
Hawke sat up in the bed, but said nothing.  Fenris had his back to him.  He wondered if  the elf had been any more distant when he'd been gone across the continent.  It was very strange to hear Fenris be the voice of reason.  So unlike him to be selfless.  He had truly changed.  The mage felt a rush of love for the warrior, sensing that after all he had been through, he really had come out the other side, a full and better man.  He wanted to share that with him.  And any minute he would be leaving.  _Again._

Standing at the edge of everything, Hawke knew the truth.  Nothing would ever diminish what Anders had meant to him.  Nothing.  And Fenris would never try.

He reached across the bed, touching the elf's arm.  Fenris shrugged him away. 

"Fenris, look at me," he said sternly.  The outline of silver-white hair and slumping shoulders could be seen turning to face the mage.  Their eyes met.  Hawke saw regret and acceptance looking back at him, and it made him ache.  He smiled at the green-eyed elf, and Fenris sent a questioning smile back. 

"I love you, Fenris," he whispered.  "Stay."

Fenris launched himself across the bed and took Hawke into his arms.  Hawke laughed as he wrapped his arms around him, a sudden torrent of relief and joy and tenderness washing over him.  Fenris  covered his face with kisses.  "I love you.  I will never resist telling you again.  You rotten, sexy, distracting, magic throwing mage.  I love you. "

Their laughter soon turned into reverence for what they had overcome, and they lay together in the darkness for awhile, warm skin against skin, hearts beating triumphantly with longed for joy.  Fenris was kissing him again, and Hawke pulled him tighter, feeling his hips move gently against him.    _Real and here, in my arms._

 "I never stopped wanting you, Hawke," the elf murmured against his mouth.  "I traveled all of Thedas, trying."  He relaxed then against the mage, laying at his side, his warm breath on the mage's chest, a leg draped over Hawke's own.  Hawke thought he could feel Fenris tremble, and he softly dragged his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck in comfort.  "Your dreams, Fenris..."  he whispered.  "Will you be alright?"  Fenris stilled for a moment and Hawked silently wished he could take it back.  The elf breathed deeply.  "They're only dreams, Hawke.  I've come to terms with my past.  No, they will not chase me away again."  Hawke pulled him in a little more, and Fenris settled once again against him.  His voice was strained when he spoke, hopeful, unsure.  "I need to know, Hawke, that this is real, and you are finally mine."  

Hawke tilted the elf's face toward his, gazing down into bottomless green eyes. The need to believe it was real ran just as fiercely through him, and he smiled back at him with understanding. "There is only you for me, Fenris.  And yes... I am yours."

Somehow in the quiet that night, the dark brooding elf, who had spent years seeking vengeance, who had tortured and murdered countless others in a twisted search for inner peace, was able to lead Hawke to serenity of his own.  Fenris made love to him with near savage passion, and Hawke surrendered to him wantonly, hungrily, finally letting someone else be the strength, finally letting his own wounds heal.  When at last he felt the wonder of Fenris pushing into him, it was with love, not just desire, and it filled every aching part of him completely.    

**********

The next day was warm and sunny in Ferelden.  Hawke and Fenris were packing their horses when Varric appeared.

"Good morning, Varric!"  Hawke said, a little too enthusiastically.

"Yes, good morning, dwarf," said Fenris, busy with the saddle bags.

Varric peered first at Hawke, then at Fenris, then began to laugh uncontrollably.  The taller men stopped what they were doing to stare in wonder.   Finally their friend took a deep breath and shook his head.  "You know, Hawke, if I had known getting laid was all you needed to get your head out of your ass, I might have done it myself."

Hawke and Fenris looked at each other, straight-faced, then back at Varric.  Then in unison, all three began to laugh together.  At last Hawke caught his breath and turned back to the horse, throwing the elf a private smile. 

"Better get your horse, Varric.  And your things," he said, over his shoulder, tightening another strap.

"Oh really?"  Varric couldn't hide his excitement, and didn't try.  "Where are we off to, and how many will I need to kill?"

Hawke was very serious now.  "We're leaving for Starkhaven.  Isabella will meet us at Kirkwall.  This thing with Sebastian must end."

 

* * * * * * * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll forgive the indulgence, and I hope you find it clever that it was Hawke, instead of the elf, that said the words. I couldn't resist.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. My best to all of you, and my shared wishes for the Fenris xpac to Inquisition, that surely must be in the works!


End file.
